I can’t remember when Mom told me this story.
She was small, blond, vivacious, full of questions. She followed my every step like a faithful dog. And I liked it for this little girl, who had not quite outgrown her baby lisp, had a very special place in my heart.
You see, I had been her nurse when the proud parents had brought her home from the hospital. Life was a new experience for her; caring for a week-old baby was a new experience for me. And the mother! Let us just say motherhood was a brand-new experience for her, too!
Now all of us had a little experience, and there was a babysitter. She was a darling, no doubt about that. But not darling enough to displace my first Love. So we shared the day together. The summer day had been long. My legs were tired. So were the five-year-old legs. It was bedtime. The house was small. Baby snoozed happily in her “go-cart.” Mother and Father could share the sofa which opened into a comfortable bed.
Where would Sister sleep? Her room at home was next to Mother and Father’s on the ground floor. Here there was only a room upstairs and in it – not even a bed! There was, however, a place to sleep. Wheat harvest had come and gone leaving golden straw in its wake. Using an old truck we had gone to the field and stuffed the tick so that it was huge and soft and crackly – a wee bit prickly, too. A fresh, white sheet stretched over it. A tired adult might have been willing to spend the night there.
But a five-year-old? 200 miles from home? Not even next door to Mother and Father?
I held her hand and we climbed the stairs together. Together we inspected the tick and discussed its merits.
“Can I jump?” She queried.
“Of course,” I answered.
She landed precisely in the middle and began squirming to make herself a nest. A gentle breeze wafted in through the south window. We said our good nights. I started down the stairway. Would she stay? My foot touched the bottom step. The little voice called out sleepily, if happily, “turn off the light.”